Home To You
by Piekie
Summary: Mickey thinks about Ian all the time.


**Home To You  
**Mickey thinks about Ian all the time.

'It's not forever. I'll come back.'

The words are floating around his head, together with the slow steady stream of cigarette smoke. It forms a haze in front of his face, fading after a few seconds.  
Just like Ian's face. However, the smoke disappears completely after a few seconds; Ian's face is still burned on the back of his eyelids, unclear but recognizable, for four years now.  
It's far too hot for the time of year and the sun is burning his skin like fire, his filthy shirt is sticking to his back. Mickey thought about taking a shower this morning, but decided against it. The grime on his skin and the dirt on his clothes are a hideout, a shield between him and the rest of the world. Last time Mickey was completely clean was the day Ian got on the bus and left. From the first layer of dust, that covered his clothes when the bus accelerated, Mickey decided to never be clean again.

'I'll come back.'

Mickey remembers it was cold when Ian left. When Mickey ran across the street and Ian looked back with sadness in his eyes, he was wearing a winter coat.  
He remembers the soft touch of Ian's glove on his face as Mickey pressed their lips together in a desperate attempt to keep him here, to keep him with Mickey. He also remembers the wetness, the slow slide of drops on his face, and he couldn't distinguish if the tears were coming from Ian or from him.  
But Ian pushed him away, and for the first time Mickey saw the one thing he'd never seen in his eyes: a loss of hope. Ian had given up. On him. On them.  
Mickey had just stood there. He'd never known how to talk, how to express what you feel. He just stood there and wished he were able to say all the things that mattered.  
_Stay with me. Kiss me. I love you._

'I'll come back.'

A simple little sentence, one soft press of Ian's mouth against his and then he was gone, in the bus and away from Mickey.  
Ian had given him hope. Mickey had been a fucking fool to believe him. Ian had come back all right. In a coffin, his skin an unnaturally pale color, even for him. His hair had been shaved off again. He was wearing his uniform. Mickey had secretly loved it when Ian wore his uniform (he tried to keep that a secret, but Firecrotch had known) but not now. Ian was not his in his uniform, nor was he his family's. He was the army's in that uniform.  
Mickey knew the moment Mandy stepped in the door, her eyes red but her face composed, a mask of calm that could almost successfully hold back the grief. Almost. He felt her sorrow sink into him as she wrapped her arms around him. She didn't say anything. Milkoviches didn't talk about their feelings. They swallowed them down, and tried not to choke on the taste of hurt.

'I'll come back.'

Ian's funeral was big. Everyone from their neighborhood had shown up, and a lot of people in army uniforms were there. Even Frank had managed to find a suit.  
Mandy hadn't been next to him during the service. She was next to the Gallagher clan. Mickey didn't blame her for leaving him standing by himself as he saw the way Lip Gallagher was clinging onto his sister's hand like a lifeline, as he saw the look of utter despair on Debbie Gallagher's face, as he saw how badly Fiona Gallagher seemed to want to jump into the grave with Ian.  
This was a family so torn apart by the loss of one of them, and Mickey hadn't been a part of the family. So he'd kept his distance, dressed in his same old ratty clothes, and repeated Ian's name over and over in his head. It didn't stop the clenching in his chest.

'I'll come back.'

Technically, Svetlana was still Mickey's wife. He'd barely seen her since the day Ian left though. He'd been wandering around the streets, breaking into abandoned homes to sleep, occasionally popping into his and Svetlana's home to get some supplies. But every time he entered the house, he could smell her cheap perfume, see her stuff cluttered around the place, and he realized Ian had been right all along: marriage was more than a piece of paper. You shared a house with someone and got to know their weird habits, even if you never saw them. Mickey knew what Svetlana ate for breakfast, the brand of her toothpaste, what tv shows she'd DVR'd.  
Mickey would've liked to know all these things about Ian. He wished he'd known how Ian took his coffee, what his favorite shirt was, what subjects he took at school.

'I'll come back.'

The grass feels soft and a little dry in between his fingers. Mickey remembers when there was only a heap of dirt in front of the gravestone. Since then, not just grass but also flowers have blossomed on his grave. It's so typically fucking Ian Gallagher that it makes Mickey smile the tiniest bit. Even Firecrotch's grave is perfect.  
Four years since Ian was buried. Mickey's fucked some guys. Preferably with freckles, or red hair, or a smile that reminds him faintly of Firecrotch.  
He's never fallen in love again though.  
Mickey traces his fingers along the lines in the headstone.  
Ian Gallagher, brother, son, soldier. You were loved.

_I miss you. Come back to me. _


End file.
